


It's a human thing

by victorialukas



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Confessions, Fluff, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorialukas/pseuds/victorialukas
Summary: Crowley did not so much fall in love with Aziraphale as, well, saunter vaguely downwards into love. It was impossible to pinpoint when it happened or why. He’d loved Aziraphale for so long, it was hard to remember a time when he didn’t. When he was an immortal being, he tried not to dwell on it—he’d had an eternity to figure it out, after all. Now he was just a human, hopelessly pining for another human, like billions of others on Earth.When the Almighty makes Aziraphale and Crowley mortal, Aziraphale doesn't see it as a punishment. Crowley doesn't understand why—until he does.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	It's a human thing

**Author's Note:**

> Post-canon. A mix of the book and television adaptation canon, mostly because I wanted to use Gabriel and I like God being referred to as She. Call me biased. CW for mild alcohol consumption.
> 
> Also, I've realized the timeline doesn't line up with the book timeline because Adam's birthday is in August. I might update later but for now, just don't think too hard about it, mmkay?

St. James’s Park buzzed with the sound of people, bicycles and birds. Aziraphale kept pace with Crowley, as he did on every sunny day since the almost-Apocalypse. Part of him expected the demon to take off to New Orleans or Las Vegas for a spell after that whole mess was taken care of. To his surprise, Crowley now only left his side for a day or two at a time. 

“I thought cuffing season was over,” Crowley said, vaguely gesturing around them. “This place looks like a breeding ground.” 

Aziraphale suppressed a grin. “I think the first day of spring is something of an aphrodisiac as well.” 

Crowley was right: couples, young and old, milled about in every direction. He felt a pang of jealousy as he watched them, many of whom were hand-in-hand. How easy it would be to reach out and simply intertwine his fingers in Crowley’s as the pair trudged through the grass, still damp from last night’s drizzle. Just holding hands. That wouldn’t be so bad. Surely, bigger sins were being committed elsewhere. Surely, Aziraphale had earned something by helping save the world mere weeks ago. He wished they could circle the park’s lake forever. 

He had just worked up the courage to brush his knuckles against Crowley’s when they were both confronted by a figure they both recognized. 

“Gabriel.” 

The archangel stood directly in their path. As usual, he was dressed in pale grey, and Aziraphale found his bright aura oddly sinister. 

“I didn’t expect to see you for, erm, at least a few hundred years…” Aziraphale began. 

“No need for pleasantries. Or violence,” Gabriel said quickly, raising his left hand to Crowley. “I’m here on official business. I’ve a message from the Almighty.” 

Gabriel extended his right hand and a golden envelope appeared in his palm. 

“What’s this about?” Aziraphale asked, taking the envelope. 

“Best if you read it yourself.” 

“Ha! He doesn’t even know,” said Crowley. The archangel ignored him. “God didn’t tell you, did She?” 

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued, “the moment I disappear, you must read the contents of that letter. Out loud. If you don’t, She’ll know.” 

“Yes, yes, I know how God works,” said Aziraphale. 

“Do you?” 

Crowley rolled his eyes, but Gabriel remained stoic. Aziraphale, meanwhile, looked as if someone had ripped out every page of a first edition Wuthering Heights in front of him. If he were capable of hate, he would have hated Gabriel. He was dramatic without being amusing and, for an angel, rather vindictive. 

“Are you quite finished here?” Crowley interjected. 

“I guess I am,” said Gabriel. With that, he was gone as suddenly as he’d appeared. 

Crowley snatched the envelope from Aziraphale’s shaking grasp and tore it open. 

“Crowley! Crowley, be careful with that.” 

But the demon paid him no mind and pulled out the letter inside. In a deep, mocking voice, he read: “The demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale are henceforth mortal. As it is spoken, it is done.” 

The paper and the envelope immediately dissolved into dust. Crowley threw his head back and cackled. 

“Those complete and utter idiots. We really gave those above a fright, eh? And now they’re trying to scare us as payback for the embarrassment. Was that the best they could do? It wasn’t even imaginative or…” 

He turned his attention to Aziraphale, who stayed silent. 

“Angel, you don’t actually believe this is legitimate, do you? Even if the Almighty wanted to punish you, it makes no sense for Her to bother with me. I’m Hell’s problem.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke so quietly the demon strained to hear him. “You see that robin?” 

Crowley’s eyes darted around until he saw the bird, several feet away from a nearby couple’s pink picnic blanket. “Yes.” 

“Kill it.” 

“Are you mad?” 

“Crowley, please. This one time, just do what I’m asking.” 

If Crowley wasn’t disturbed before, he was now. Aziraphale, who felt guilty about swatting mosquitoes, had certainly never asked him to kill. Crowley stared at his friend a moment longer, trying in vain to gauge his expression. 

“Fine,” he said eventually. “But promise you won’t be angry with me when it drops dead and you have to mourn its ‘adorable scarlet belly.’” 

Aziraphale did not budge. “I promise.” 

When Crowley lifted his right hand, Aziraphale nodded. He snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. He snapped again. The bird carried on, hopping among the smattering of dog violets. 

“What? What the hell?” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale was just as unreadable as before. “Take off your shades.” 

This time, Crowley didn’t argue. He removed the sunglasses from his face and met Aziraphale’s gaze with his bare eyes. The angel’s jaw dropped. 

“Oh. Oh dear.” 

Rather than wait for an explanation, Crowley rushed to the lake’s edge to look at his own reflection. His once-fiery eyes were now a hazy green. Human. A useless, daft human stared back at demon Crowley. He crumpled to the grass. “Impossible. No, no, no. No way.” 

A familiar hand on Crowley’s shoulder pulled him out of his trance. 

“I believe we could both use a drink,” said Aziraphale. “Come, let us get out of here.” 

* * *

Back at Aziraphale’s flat (a humble little home above the A.Z. Fell and Co. bookshop) Crowley crashed onto the bed without a word. Aziraphale, unable to sleep, settled into the breakfast nook and reread The Bluest Eye. Every once in a while, he checked in on Crowley. He told himself it was to make sure he was still breathing, but in truth, he found something endearing in the way his friend looked while he slept. The softness of his expression, the rise and fall of his chest. Aziraphale imagined sleeping beside him with an arm wrapped around his waist. Maybe, he reasoned, he could ask Crowley to stay. They spent so much time with one another, it only made sense to live together. Maybe Crowley would say yes, and they would sleep like that, night after night. In the past, Aziraphale knew he couldn’t be with Crowley the way he fantasized, because being with Crowley meant cutting ties with heaven. Aziraphale never would have done that on his own. He was too dutiful. But now… 

When the clock struck ten, Aziraphale had just cracked the spine of a new annotated edition of Paradise Lost. Before he could become fully absorbed in the story, he heard Crowley stirring at the other end of the flat. He set the book aside and went to put the kettle on. By the time the cup of Earl Grey was properly steeped, Crowley was awake, sitting up on the edge of Crowley’s bed. He looked almost comical, with tousled red hair and a leather jacket he never bothered to remove before falling asleep. 

“Hullo,” said Aziraphale. He had a cup of tea in one hand and an apple in the other. 

“Hey,” said Crowley. “How long was I out for?” 

“An above-average amount of time for a human,” said Aziraphale. He set the tea and apple on the nightstand. “Which is why you should eat something.” 

“Nah.” 

“Crowley, you’re mortal now. We both are. You need to eat to survive.” 

“I was hoping that was all a dream,” moaned Crowley, falling back onto the bed. 

“I’m afraid not.” Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. “I do have some good news, however.” 

He briefly disappeared, only to return with a small stack of papers. 

“I found these in a drawer while you were sleeping. Documents, including a birth certificate. Mine says my legal name is ‘Abel Zirah Fell.’ Not the most creative, but—oh, look, my birthday is next month. April 19, 1970. Oh my. You’d think She would’ve allowed us to start off younger.” 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale incredulously. For someone who’s default function was “panic,” he was taking all of this extremely well. _Strangely_ well. 

“The Almighty didn’t totally leave us high and dry, you see. I imagine you’ll find your papers at your own place, too,” said Aziraphale. “You know, so you can get identification and such things we’ll need to start living our human lives.” 

“BORRRR-RRRING.” 

“Don’t be like that. Come along, we never did have that drink yesterday. I’ll pour some port. I’d like some company while I reorganize my personal bookshelf.” 

Crowley relented. While he couldn’t relate to Aziraphale’s positivity, he was unable to resist following him into the sitting area. Yes, drinking with the angel was usually fun. Drinking with an ex-angel might be better. Crowley draped himself over Aziraphale’s chaise with his glass of Taylor Fladgate from 1863. Aziraphale took his own glass with him to the bookshelf opposite Crowley, un-shelving and re-shelving his favourite volumes. 

“And you’re doing that because…?” 

“I like to shift things around occasionally. Keeps things interesting. This time, I’m sorting my books by colour.” 

“You and I have very different ideas of interesting.” 

“Apparently so.” 

Crowley knocked back his port in one gulp. “Where’s the bottle?” 

“Crowley, be careful with that. We can’t sober up on demand anymore.” 

“Yeah, about that small detail,” Crowley’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. A biting, antagonistic tone he hadn’t used on Aziraphale in a while. “Let’s talk about that.” 

Aziraphale paused. “All right.” 

“We’re mortal now. Human.” 

“Yes. I was there, Crowley.” 

“And that doesn’t bother you?” 

“Hmm.” Aziraphale nursed his drink before responding. “No. I suppose it doesn’t.” 

“Why the hell not?” 

Aziraphale took another sip. 

“I’ve thought about it, Crowley, and…I’m happy. I’ve been happy for weeks. Gabriel swooping in with a message from the Lord, while unexpected, doesn’t have to change that. Nothing has to change.” 

“Don’t be foolish.” Crowley swung his legs down from the sofa and planted his feet on Aziraphale’s crimson rug. “Everything has to change. No more money or travel on demand. No more magic tricks.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “I run a shop, dear. I’ll make my money proper-like. You’re the one who’s never had a fallback plan.” 

“Look, I’m definitely going to need another drink to continue this conversation,” said Crowley, standing now. He headed to the kitchen to dig up the rest of the port. He emerged seconds later, taking a swig directly from the bottle while he made his way back to the chaise. But this time, he didn’t sit. 

“A fallback plan,” he repeated, “in case being a demon didn’t work out? Sorry, that never occurred to me.” 

“I forgive you,” said Aziraphale, who had gone back to shelving his books. “Perhaps you could learn to be a botanist.” 

Anthony grimaced. He preferred to be the one doing the tormenting during their banter—not on the receiving end. 

“I don’t understand you, Angel. All these centuries, you were driving yourself mad, worrying about getting caught breaking ‘the rules.’ Now that it’s happened, and your god has decided to smite us, you’re practically chuffed about it.” 

“Er,” Aziraphale hesitated, sliding an especially thick tome into its place. Moby Dick, maybe. “I’m choosing not to see it as a punishment.” 

“Your optimism is revolting!” Crowley took another gulp on port before pointedly setting the bottle down on a rogue stack of books. _Thunk._ “I’ll admit I thought mortality might make you more bearable, but I see it hasn’t.” 

Anthony was only trying to turn Aziraphale’s teasing back on him, so he was surprised when Aziraphale’s face darkened. “And I thought humanity would give you some, y’know, humanity. I suppose we were both wrong.” 

Crowley opened his mouth to retort, but nothing witty came to mind. Instead: “Oh, fuck off. I’m going home, Angel.” 

He half-expected his friend to call after him as he sauntered towards the door, but Aziraphale only sighed. When Crowley peeked over his shoulder, Aziraphale’s eyes were glued to his bookshelf. He didn’t so much as wave goodbye. 

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t call to apologize, as he so often did after their little tiffs. This one felt different. Even worse than their fight over the holy water But Crowley couldn’t say why. Days rolled by and the phone didn’t ring. 

Crowley did not so much fall in love with Aziraphale as, well, saunter vaguely downwards into love. It was impossible to pinpoint when it happened or why. He’d loved Aziraphale for so long, it was hard to remember a time when he didn’t. When he was an immortal being, he tried not to dwell on it—he’d had an eternity to figure it out, after all. Now he was just a human, hopelessly pining for another human, like billions of others on Earth. He knew he didn’t have time to waste. He couldn’t nap for a hundred years (or more) until the argument blew over. 

“Idiot. Git. Bastard.” 

Outwardly, Anthony was talking to his plants while misting them with water. But he wasn’t sure if his words were directed at Aziraphale or himself. They hadn’t spoken in a week now, and it was eating away at him. It was much easier to push emotions aside when he was a demon. He knew Aziraphale cared for him, and that care was separate from the way an angel simply loves everyone, but did he love him as a friend? A brother? Or something else? Crowley couldn’t tell. Had Aziraphale even been capable of the kind of love Crowley wanted from him? Maybe if he wasn’t before, he could be now. Unless Crowley had completely screwed it up. 

“Love is patient, love is kind,” so said the Bible. Crowley didn’t buy it. He was willing to admit there may have been a handful of times love made him kind, but he was never patient. He was especially impatient now, while he waited for Aziraphale to call. 

Anthony glanced at the clock. Past midnight. Perhaps I should go to bed, he thought. Sleep was now a necessity, not a luxury. 

“I’ve been happy for weeks,” Aziraphale had said. Happy for what? Crowley had seen him almost every day. Nothing special had happened. Just regular walks in the park, lunches together and the occasional drink. Well, maybe more than occasional. The last time they’d drank—really drank—together, they both ended up lying on their backs on the floor of the bookshop singing Queen. Since _Armageddon, Interrupted_ , all Aziraphale had really done was spend time with… 

“Oh,” Crowley breathed. It hit him like a bolt of lightning. _He_ was the idiot. He was certain of that now. 

“Fuck. Oh, damn it all,” he muttered, then turned on his heel and all but sprinted to the door of his flat. He wasn’t sure where he was going at first, but when he inhaled the cool night air, he knew what he had to do. It was going to be something impulsive and stupid. It was going to be exactly what a human might do. 

* * *

Aziraphale was sitting comfortably at the desk in the back of his shop, sipping a cup of hot cocoa while a record spun in the corner. Never mind that it was the ninth musical soundtrack he’d listened to that day. The store was shuttered for the night, but Aziraphale still wasn’t used to needing sleep. Unlike Crowley, Aziraphale had always seen it as a waste of time. That time could be spent reading. Recently, though, Aziraphale could hardly concentrate on books. He was spending so much of his energy resisting the urge to call Crowley. 

_Not this time_ , he scolded himself. The notes of _Jesus Christ Superstar_ drifted through the air. He stared at the dark liquid in his mug, humming along in hopes of drowning out his invasive thoughts. 

Aziraphale had stopped denying his love for Crowley ages ago. It was no use. As an angel, he could sense love, and there was no ignoring it within himself. Whenever he was around Crowley, he felt an overwhelming warmth. A light shone in his mind’s eye even when they fought. It took Aziraphale more time to realize Crowley, in fact, loved him back. That’s why the light was so strong: the love was radiating from two beings, not one. Now that Aziraphale was no longer a celestial, the feeling had changed to a mortal one. A tightness in the chest mixed with a buzzing in the brain and a dull, constant ache. It felt more like pain than love, and Aziraphale didn’t care for it at all. Worse still, he could no longer feel Crowley’s love for him. Aziraphale had no way of knowing if it had gone away. 

There were other downsides of being human, to be sure. A finite amount of time meant Aziraphale could no longer hope to read all of the books in the world, nor could he eat at the Ritz whenever he pleased. All that was a small price to pay for freedom. 

Mortality wasn’t a punishment. God wasn’t one to punish love, despite what some evangelicals might say. She saw Aziraphale’s love for the world, for Crowley, and She rewarding it by giving them the chance to be free. That’s how Aziraphale saw it, at least. They were human, with no need to take the side of heaven or hell. Wasn’t that what Crowley wanted? 

When the familiar introduction of “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” started to play, Aziraphale snapped out of his reverie. He waved his hand above his head. 

“Nope! Not tonight,” he said. Then, he remembered. _No more magic tricks._

“Oh, my dear Crowley. Maybe you were onto something. This is bollocks.” 

Aziraphale reluctantly left his desk, and his cocoa, to change the record. Just as he lifted the needle, he heard a firm knock at the shop door. 

“Closed!” he called. “We open at eight tomorrow.” 

“Aziraphale, it’s me.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “Closed,” he repeated, but he was already starting to move towards the entrance. 

“Come on, Angel. Please.” 

He pulled the door open and there stood his Crowley, looking at him with those new, sad green eyes. For a moment, they just stared at each other. 

“Well, who are you? Count Dracula?” Aziraphale said, cracking a smile. “Come in, then.” 

He’d barely had a chance to step aside when Crowley shuffled into the shop. Aziraphale closed the door behind him. 

“Angel.” 

“Well, not anymore.” 

Aziraphale instantly regretted the remark. Crowley was panting, indicating he’d ran—or at least speed-walked—all the way from his place to the bookshop. 

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Aziraphale added quickly, padding back in the direction of his desk. 

“No,” Crowley huffed. “Need to talk to you.” 

“You know, you’re welcome to talk while sitting.” 

“Damn it, Angel. Just give me a minute.” 

“All right,” Aziraphale turned to face him again. “That I can do.” 

Aziraphale’s attraction to Crowley had never been physical or sexual, really. Although Crowley’s corporeal form was beautiful, objectively speaking, Aziraphale had always seen their bodies as vessels instead of part of who they were. Now, watching Crowley catch his breath, Aziraphale felt an urge to touch him in a way he hadn’t before. Did humans have to navigate all these feelings at once, all the time? No wonder they had to sleep every fourteen hours or so. This was exhausting. 

“What am I to you?” Crowley asked abruptly. 

Aziraphale’s face softened. Don’t you know? he wanted to say. So much had stayed unspoken for so long. He wished he could move closer to Crowley, but his knees felt as if they might give out if he tried. 

“You’re my nemesis. And my best friend, somehow,” said Aziraphale. “My white whale and…” 

Crowley cut in. He didn’t want to hear Aziraphale speak in riddles. “We’ve only a few decades left on Earth. Four or five at most. I’m done with ambiguity. I’m ready to tell you what I want. Tell me if you feel the same.” 

Aziraphale was doing everything he could do keep his cool, but he could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He hoped Crowley couldn’t hear it. 

“Go ahead, my dear.” 

Crowley shifted his gaze to the floor, afraid that Aziraphale’s reaction might make him falter. 

“Five thousand years ago—maybe a little before that, even—I realized I was in love with an angel. I couldn’t explain it,” he said. “One day, I borrowed this book of essays from the angel’s collection. There was this line… ‘If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than it was because he was he, and I was I.’ And that was it. I understood that neither Heaven nor Hell could explain what I felt. It just…was. It _is._ ” 

_I have to look at him,_ Crowley realized. _He needs to know that I’m serious._ He glanced up again and saw Aziraphale, standing stiff, attentive and so beautiful. There was no going back now. 

“That day in the park, and the days that followed,” Crowley continued, “I was too ignorant to see what God’s decision could mean. I’m sorry for that.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “What are you saying?” 

For a second, Crowley feared his heart might burst open. Mortals weren’t equipped to carry six centuries’ worth of adoration. “I love you,” he said. “And I am…all right with being human if I get to be human with you.” 

Then, much to Aziraphale’s dismay, Crowley slowly sank to the floor. 

“Crowley, I…Wait, what are you doing?” 

“It’s a human thing,” Crowley replied, propping himself up on one knee. 

“I know it’s a human thing! Why’re you—” 

“Shhhhut up, Angel! Erm. Please. Let me do this.” 

Aziraphale bit his lip. 

“I believe you love me, too. If I’ve imagined it, I’ll go back to being your nemesis or friend or whatever. I could live with that, I think,” Crowley carried on. “We’ve spent centuries apart before, but I never want to be without you again. I’d marry you in the Catholic fucking church, if that’s what you wanted.” 

Aziraphale was tempted to point out that the Catholic church wasn’t very likely to marry two male-presenting people, but he stopped himself from interrupting again. He wanted Crowley to keep talking. Since when did he read Michel de Montaigne? Since when did he learn to speak like this? 

“Angel, I never thought it would be possible to tell you. I want to be with you. Will you spend the rest of my mortal life with me?” 

Aziraphale didn’t realize until that moment: he was crying. Happy human tears slid down his porcelain cheeks. 

“Crowley, I’ve loved you for so many human lifetimes,” he said. “What’s another measly forty years?” 

“That’s a…?” 

“Yes. Come here.” 

Thrilled (for once) to obey, Crowley rose to close the space between them. 

“If I could have conjured a ring, I would have.” 

“I don’t care about a bloody ring,” Aziraphale said, laughing. He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands the moment he was close enough. “I love you.” 

“Thank God,” said Crowley, before kissing Aziraphale the way he’d been wanting to for centuries.

**Author's Note:**

> I might expand this into a series of Human!Crowley and Human!Aziraphale domestic fluff, if folks are interested. This is the first fic I've written in many moons, and I did it to procrastinate from my original writing projects, so please go easy on me.


End file.
